


A Liar, 1bigdisaster

by michaely



Series: Ain't Ever Getting Older [5]
Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Drama & Romance, Eventual Romance, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Romance, Teen Romance, pricefield
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:53:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27050731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/michaely/pseuds/michaely
Summary: Pricefield vs. Amberprice. The rematch.Well, it's more like Chloe's struggle to overcome her regrets about Rachel in order to pursue something with Max. But that's not as catchy a tagline.In another alternate timeline created by the ending of "This Feeling" (because LiS is now LoZ: OoT), Max travels even further back in time to her early childhood. But because so young a mind can't comprehend knowledge of the multiverse, Max loses all knowledge of other timelines. The Caulfields have to move to Seattle before Max and Chloe even meet, and so Pricefield isn't born until the final year of high school, when Max finds Chloe grieving hard for Rachel.Ain't Ever Getting Older ain't ever getting an ending. Mwahaha.
Relationships: Maxine "Max" Caulfield & Chloe Price, Maxine "Max" Caulfield/Chloe Price
Series: Ain't Ever Getting Older [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1819399
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	1. Prologue

Steeling her will with a deep breath, Max raises her hand. For a short, almost imperceptible blip in time, everything freezes. If Max had blinked, she never would’ve noticed. But with her focus honed in like never before, she did notice, and so she’s emboldened to push even further.

This time, the world around her seems to protest a little. It actually takes a little while for all motions and forces and elements to grind to a halt. She could see the raindrops suspended in midair, the pedestrians caught in the middle of their gaits.

With one last push, all of it starts to move in reverse. Car exhaust flows into the tailpipes, people back their way into buildings while retracting their umbrellas. It’s working.

Like the receptionist said, Chloe had left not so long ago, so it actually doesn’t require too much of a rewind for the right taxi to come backing in. Even from a great distance, Max noticed the blue locks.

Just a little more now.

The car backs up into the parking spot right in front of the hostel, right in front of Max.

Max is so overjoyed to catch sight of Chloe’s face again, she doesn’t even notice the blood trickling from her nose.

She must’ve been more out of practice than originally thought. As the first drop of blood hits the pavement, so too does the entirety of Max’s body. With Max lying in a crumpled heap, the world’s machinations whirl around her.

* * *

June 2000

“Max,” Ryan Caulfield addressed his daughter, “Did you hear me?”

Max felt dampness on her freckled cheeks. Her eyes were puffy. Certainly she had been crying, but what for?

“Maybe this is one of those dissociative episodes the therapist was telling us about,” Vanessa commented. She knelt down to look Max even more closely in her bright blue eyes. “Honey, I know you and Grandpa Holden were really close, but there was nothing anyone could’ve done. It was just his time.”

Max finally blinked. Now she could move her eyes to direct her gaze at her parents, first at her dad, then to her mom.

Ryan continued, “I’ve also made the decision for us to move to Seattle. I don’t want my father’s shop to leave the family, so I’ll be taking over the business.”

“I know you were getting excited about starting school,” Vanessa gently rubbed Max’s back. “But you’ll see soon enough. Things in Seattle will turn out even better. I’ll make sure of it.”

Max at last could summon the will to give her mother a short nod.

Vanessa smiled back at Max. “That’s my girl. Do you want your snack now?”

“Yeah,” was Max’s simple reply. Why, Max wondered to herself, did her voice not sound quite like her own?

“OK, go and wash your hands,” Vanessa instructed.

Max hopped off the kitchen chair and started shuffling to the bathroom. She could overhear the starting snippets of the conversation between her parents.

“It’s a shame about the new house,” Vanessa lamented. “It was so beautiful, in a great neighborhood too.”

Ryan nodded in agreement. “I was hoping Max could make some new friends. There’s supposed to be another girl her age living in the next block.”

* * *

“Mwahaha!” cackled Chloe Price. “So this is the mighty Callamastia of Arcadian Fields.” Chloe was referring to the nude Barbie doll tied up with butcher’s twine to a wooden stake. “You don’t look so impressive now. You were graced with good fortune against my mongrel hordes at the Battle of the Black Well, but I told you I’d have my revenge. Now I, General Chloenidas, sentence you to death. By FIRE!” Chloe takes her cannister of lighter fluid and douses the doll. “Constable Billiam!”

Her father lurched forward, his body hunched forth and dragging his left leg behind him. Clearly he was just as invested in this scenario as his daughter. “Yes, mistress?” William spoke in an exaggerated hiss.

“The torch!” Chloe commanded.

William handed over a commonplace stick lighter.

Chloe flicked the switch to ignite the tip, then brought the modest flame to her victim. The pitiful doll ignited almost immediately. “Ahaha,” Chloe began, her laughter escalating in menace as the inferno consumed her adversary, “Ahahaha--hey!”

Joyce came storming in, brandishing the fire extinguisher. She quickly sprayed down the rising blaze, much to the dismay of her daughter and husband.

“What the fuck!” Chloe exclaimed.

“Watch your language!” Joyce admonished the child. “News every night about the forest getting burned to hell, and you two want this neighborhood to be next?”

William chewed his lip and rubbed the back of his neck. Chloe remained steadfast in her defiant rage.

Joyce turned to her husband, “What did the therapist say about ‘age-appropriate play’?”

“That Yankee fuck doesn’t know shit!” Chloe protested. “He thinks soda is called ‘pop’!”

Now even her dad had to step in. “Chloe, seriously, language please.”

Joyce closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. “It’s time for dinner anyway. You pyromaniacs get inside and wash your hands.” She started on her way back into the house

“Whatever you say,” Chloe mumbled under her breath, “Atilla.”

“I heard that!” Joyce called out.

Chloe exchanged mischievous grins with her father.

“That was pretty damn cool,” William remarked.

“Totally cool,” Chloe concurred with a high-five.

“Oh, by the way,” William continued, “I heard about that house on the block over. Turns out the sale is off. The family had an emergency and is moving to Seattle. Sorry about that. I figured you were looking forward to maybe making a new friend with another girl your age.”

Chloe scoffed. “Who needs those stuck-up city bitches anyway? I bet she’s just another hipster douche like Victoria Chase.”

“Chloe, really go easy with the language. At least around your mother.”

“Besides,” Chloe wrapped her arms around William’s waist. “I’ve always got you.” She looked up expectantly at him. “You’re never leaving me. Right?”


	2. I Quit I Quit I Quit

Oct 2013

As Max exits Up All Nite Donuts, her nighttime hunger pangs having been assuaged with a few Boston creams, she places her Sol Republic headphones over her ears. Joe Guese’s punchy guitar intro starts up, soon joined by Ben Romans’s synthesizer and eventually Kyle Patrick’s vocals.

_“I quit_

_My old ways._

_I quit ignoring all the things you say.”_

She zips up her gray hoodie when she feels a chilly evening breeze blowing in. Approaching the bus stop, she checks the time on her phone. Still a few more minutes until the next bus. She takes a seat on the bench under the canopy, next to the banner advertising some local real estate agent.

Out of the shadows comes stumbling the figure of another girl. Max immediately notices how tall she is. The girl can be seen teetering to and fro, reminding Max of that video of the baby giraffe trying to walk right after being born. The first feature of the girl that becomes visible in the darkness is her hair, dyed a stunningly vivid blue. Then Max’s eyes are drawn to the intricate tattoo sleeve covering the girl’s right arm. Many designs are incorporated there, including a skull, butterflies, and flowers. Max catches sight of the glass bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag. At last being able to look at her face, the obvious truth is confirmed for Max: this girl is wasted out of her mind. The girl’s eyes are only half open and her neck seems to have lost all ability to support the weight of her head.

The girl only stops in her unstable steps to bring the bottle to her lips. She tips the bottle until it’s entirely upside down but doesn’t seem to find even a single drop. She shakes the bottle a few more times just to be sure, then carelessly chucks it away. The shattering of glass can be heard resounding in the darkness.

The blinding headlights of a semi-tractor can be seen approaching, yet this girl just continues to march unsteadily forth, straight for the road. Max looks at the truck. Then looks at the girl. The girl raises one foot above the curb, but before she can step off and into danger, Max has darted over to her and pulled her by the wrist back to the sidewalk. The truck passes by, kicking up a strong gust which sends the girl’s blue hair swishing in every direction. Still panting, Max checks up on the girl, who continues to wear that same listless expression on her face.

Max gingerly steps away, believing the girl to be so fragile that she could crumble to dust if not offered constant assisted support. It’s then when the bus arrives. The doors open with a whoosh. The girl at least has the wherewithal to make her way toward the entrance. She steps on and absentmindedly deposits some change into the coin receptacle. Max follows warily behind her. Max runs her transit pass over the scanner. She is still unable to divert her gaze from the girl. The girl plops herself down into a seat near the back. She leans to the side, her forehead smacking into the glass of the window with a dull thud.

“Take a seat, miss,” the driver reminds Max.

Max does as instructed, resolving not to look back at the girl. Most likely nothing but trouble could come of her.

* * *

Max feels fortunate that the ride back to Blackwell was uneventful. Most likely the girl was simply embracing her state of semi-consciousness and wasn’t in possession of the faculties to drum up any more chaos.

The bus lurches to a halt at the stop near Max’s school. As she rises from her seat, she can’t help but look back. The girl is now entirely passed out, lying across the seat, her head hanging down from the edge and her mouth agape.

“Are you getting out here?” The driver asks Max.

Max looks at the exit. She looks back at the girl.

* * *

The girl gets deposited onto the bed of Max’s dorm room.

Max stands hunched over, gasping desperately to refill her lungs with air. She certainly wouldn’t have made it had she not run into Warren Graham on the front lawn.

“Tha...” Max takes a few more deep breaths. “Thanks again, Warren.”

“Don’t mention it,” the boy replies.

“You said you know her?”

“Well, I wasn’t really close with her. She and I didn’t exactly run in the same circles. All I know is that her name is Chloe Price and she was expelled from here a few years ago. Based on the rumors I’ve heard about her recently, this...” Warren gestures to Chloe’s wholly unresponsive body, lanky limbs splayed out haphazardly across Max’s comforter with the purple squares and zebra stripe patterns, “This isn’t exactly an uncommon occurrence for her.”

“I see.”

“She’s lucky you found her.”

“I guess so.”

“All right, I should leave before your RA catches me here after hours. You got everything handled?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“See you in O-Chem tomorrow.”

Warren exits the room and shuts the door behind him.

Max looks back at the girl, now identified as Chloe Price. Max had been right. Taking more investment in this girl is already causing trouble. Yet Max is still undeniably drawn to her. Max herself recognizes how out of character this is for her. She had always sought to keep her life clean, tidy, uncomplicated, devoid of risk of peril. And yet, the attraction to this girl had already proven to be inevitable. Why is that?

Before she can contemplate this conundrum further, the fatigue started to overwhelm Max’s limbs. She walks over to the futon couch on the side of the room opposite her bed and falls to the mattress. She almost feels like she falls asleep before her body even hits the cushion.

* * *

Max is awoken by knocking at her door. She raises her head from the lumpy futon mattress and looks to her side. Chloe Price had disappeared. Well, at least disappeared from the room. She doesn’t have much time to ponder this new mystery, yet another one now associated with Chloe, as the persistent knocking at her door is starting to grate at her nerves. She walks to the door and looks out the peephole. Speaking of grating on nerves...

“Hello, Victoria.”

“I saw Chloe Price leaving your room early this morning.” Victoria Chase was never one to beat around the bush.

“Yeah, I guess she did,” Max replies. At least she can confirm Chloe did actually just walk out and didn’t teleport or apparate or leave in a time machine.

“You know she’s got a reputation in this town, right?”

“I’ve heard a few things.”

“Look, you and I aren’t exactly Gaga and Beyonce, but that girl is a veritable typhoon of drama. I wouldn’t wish her on my most terrible enemy. So if you’re looking to hook up with the worst basket case as some kind of revenge plot against daddy or something, let me tell you she is way more bad girl than you can handle. Take my advice and blow a drummer instead.”

“I...” Max sighs hugely, “I’ll take that into consideration.”

“Clever girl. Now if you’ll excuse me, I don’t want to be late for yogalates.” Victoria places her Versace sunglasses over her eyes. Max couldn’t help but wonder why Victoria needs sunglasses for indoors, but drops her contemplative efforts in the interest of preventing her brain from imploding.

Max shuts the door and takes some time to study her room again. She catches sight of a note that had been left on her desk. It was written with hastily scribbled letters on one of the napkins from recently ordered Thai takeout. 

> **“Thanks for letting me crash last night. I had to take $20 from your wallet to pay for the cab.”**

“WHAT?!” Max shouts, far louder than she had intended. She checks her black messenger bag and fishes out her wallet, confirming that it is, in fact, missing a twenty-dollar bill. That had been part of her birthday money from mom.

> **“I can pay you back if you give me a call.”**

Chloe had written her phone number in an even shoddier hand than the rest of the note. Deciding that she doesn’t want to dedicate any more head space to this increasingly labyrinthine caper, Max opts simply to take a shower and get ready for class.

* * *

“Your generation is not the first to engage in ‘selfie expression.’” Mr. Yelchin laughs in amusement.

The students join in with varying levels of enthusiasm.

“It is joke,” Yelchin states with a hearty grin. He dials up his Russian accent to comic proportions now, “In Soviet Russia, selfie take you.”

A few more laughs from the class this time.

The photography teacher for this year is a sturdy man from the northwestern region of the former Soviet Union. His piercing dark eyes sometimes will stare off in the distance as if commiserating some trying times out in that frozen tundra from long ago. At the same time, his gentle, cherubic features belie any resentment or harshness that his past may have bestowed on him, and he generally exudes positivity and encouragement for his students.

The bell rings, compelling the rest of the class to start gathering their belongings.

Yelchin bids farewell in the customary manner. “Thank you kindly for attendance and attention, as always. _Spasibo_.”

When she’s stepped out into the hallway, Max dons her headphones again and picks up her phone to start her music. She notices a headline that had popped up in her alerts during class. It reads “Jefferson verdict hinges on Prescott testimony.”

Max had been following the case of Mark Jefferson since she had found out she would be returning to Arcadia Bay for school. She began tracking a curious string of cases where young women about her age from all over the west coast reported having attended a party and then losing consciousness. They would awaken the next morning without memory of the night before, but all of them spoke of feeling “violated” and “gross.”

The case was blown open about one year ago when Nathan Prescott, son of local business tycoon Sean Prescott, was charged with DUI manslaughter after wrapping his Mustang around a traffic light in downtown Portland. The accident killed his passenger, Rachel Amber. Nathan, no doubt under advice from the Prescott family’s high-priced lawyers, played the last hand he had left to save himself from a lengthy stay in prison: he would lead investigators to the predator who had been terrorizing young girls all across the region.

Even in spite of objections from Rachel’s father and Arcadia Bay District Attorney James Amber, Portland DA Rod Underhill agreed to a plea deal for Nathan, who in exchange offered not only details about how to find vital evidence of Jefferson’s operations but also would testify against him in court. Additionally, Nathan was granted immunity from charges related to his role as an accomplice in Jefferson’s crimes. Although a father lost what could’ve been ultimate justice for his daughter, he gave a modicum of closure to countless victims and saved who knows how many others from the same horrible fate.

Max is just about to click on the most recent news story when her phone starts to buzz. The caller ID shows a number that’s not among her contacts, but it looks somewhat similar to the one Chloe had written down on that takeout napkin.

Max removes her headphones and instead brings her device to her ear. “Hello?”

“Hey, if it isn’t my guardian angel.”

“Are you Chloe?” Max needs confirmation, since she hadn’t before been able to listen to the girl’s voice.

“That’s me. You know, the chick who can’t hold her liquor.”

“How’d you get my number?”

“I looked through your phone.”

“WHAT?!” an utterly aghast Max yells aloud. Many other students walking through the hall cast a wary eye at her.

“Yeah, ‘1234’ is not exactly the wisest choice for an access code.”

Max feels the heat rising in her cheeks.

“But I swear I had the best intentions,” Chloe insists. “In case you were feeling iffy about calling me, I wanted to have a way to reach you. I always make sure to settle my debts. I don’t like leaving things up in the air.”

“What did you have in mind?” Max asks hesitantly.

“You know the Two Whales Diner?”

“Um, yeah I think so.” Max couldn’t remember ever eating there, maybe only a few times her parents had stopped to pick up a to-go coffee.

“6:30 tonight.” With that, Chloe brusquely hangs up.

Max finds herself staring at the phone in her hand for a few more moments after the conclusion of the call. Chloe Price, in the brief dealings that Max had with her, had already proven to be a character who’s overly generous with surprise, her courses of action always careening away from the beaten path. Right now, Max half expects Chloe herself to come springing out the phone screen. Hell, it wouldn’t be the weirdest thing to happen in their relationship.


End file.
